In Search of Raquoon Blowjob at the Kosha Dillz Oy Vey bash

Raquoon
Blowjob is precisely the hip-hop act I'm looking for down here.
They're young, but old enough to lace Back to the Future
references. They're urban, but kind of on the fence about
gentrification. They're political, yet awesomely apathetic at the
same time. And most of all, the Boston duo has some amazing names –
Adolf Made-off and BriteBart Simpson.

In
eternal homage to Digital Underground, BriteBart and Adolf usually
just do pop-up shows in Burger King bathrooms (pop-up shows, by the
way, are the only kind of shows they do at all). Still I heard that
they might be smacking down a few parties here, delivering their raw
brand of phallic gusto straight to Austin's doorstep.

In
search of Raquoon Blowjob, my first stop yesterday was the Kosha
Dillz-hosted Oy Vey bash at Club 606 near the creek. He and The
Company Man from HipHopDX like the same kind of shit that I do, and
from the jump they impressed with their selections. Brody and Choch
are a riot, earning the right to sport their retro WB fashion.
They're blood brothers from DC who relocated to the well-known rap
Mecca of Huntersville, North Carolina to launch a career. More power
to them; if you make me laugh, and can cut the dance floor down like
Choch and Brody, then by all means hole up in Wasilla for all I care.

Next I
got to check Fresco and Black Lung, who are one notch below school
shooters on the short list of America's worst suburban nightmares.
They're whiteboys who could easily play the frat rap game, but who
rhyme more about stimulants than they do about weed. The prize for
best download card definitely goes to these guys, and to whoever
helped them execute the virtual coke-sniffing experience for their
Whiteboy Wasted campaign. Oh the humanity.

If
there's one thing that Raquoon Blowjob lacked on the cassette-only
demo that they leaked three copies of in Williamsburg last week, it's
a true sense of maturity. That's understandable; they've only been in
business for a month. For my fill of well-oiled seasoned artists, I
took in Kyle Rapps, the MC formerly known as Black Skeptik, and a
staple in the Kosha Dillz camp. Whereas Skeptik was about pushing
aggressive rhetoric over progressive beats, Rapps brings a more
refined, accessible, and earthier feel with 10-ton bass lines and
jabs about everything from nonsense to politics.

When I
finally find Raquoon Blowjob, I wouldn't be surprised if they were
jamming with Ducky, a unique ball of talent and originality who's
fully in-line with what they have popping. She's also hella cute,
with a voice to fall asleep or fuck to depending on your mood. Ducky
has sexy dancers, massive flow that borders rap and whatever, and a
polka dot tube top that she's not afraid to lift for fans.

It
goes without saying that Raquoon Blowjob relies heavily on Canadian
rap influences, so I was psyched to also catch Sweatshop Union by the
creek yesterday. They've come a long way since their dope but
depressing working class rap days, developing a sort of J5
performance and blending comedy with their proletariat punch. They're
on some “Bill Murray shit” for sure, but this was no Groundhog
Day for anyone who's seen Sweatshop before.

Finally,
I was reminded that I may not need Raquoon Blowjob after all. The
music I've been jamming to for years is enough to get me sweating, as
was the case with Murs, the indie-big label chameleon who killed a
quickie at the 606, or Mr. Muthafuckin' eXquire, who just signed to
Universal Republic this week. If there's hope for these guys, both of
who pack bars with substance rather than cheap ironic catch phrases,
then there's hope for all of us.

The
same goes for party rocking host Kosha Dillz, who seems to be getting
more and more popular, bucking the trend of underground mainstays.
His showcase was one of the week's brightest. The only thing that
could have made it better was a Blowjob.